Baby on a Plane

Last week we took a trip to Ann Arbor, Michigan to visit some dear friends and meet their 15 month old, Baby Z. We had a wonderful time; went to the Hands On Museum, hung out at Allmendinger Park, explored the Natural History Museum. We even got to have a night out at the Ark watching Chelsea Williams. When it was time to leave Baby M gave Baby Z a hug and a kiss, stole his cup of Cheerios and we were on our way.

This trip wasn't Baby M's first time on a plane. Nine months ago we took a short flight up the coast to attend my brother's wedding in Northern California. But this was his first long flight and the first flight where I didn't have the option of sticking a boob in his face to calm him down. The flight to Michigan was long, oversold and we ended up sitting for a hour on the tarmac while the crew fixed a mechanical problem. Baby M did well, although the woman in the seat in front of us did not appreciate his fascination with the fold out tray. The flight home was also oversold and Baby M was grouchy from the get go. He was flying as a "lap child" but didn't want to sit with me or my husband. He wanted to crawl around on the floor under the seats, which, as a flight attendant helpfully announced over the intercom, is unsafe. To keep him quiet we plied him with snacks-- everything from my husband's Taco Bell nachos to Annie's Bunny Grahams. About two hours into the 4 and a half hour flight Baby M barfed all over my husband. Thankfully, he missed splashing our row mate and the passengers in the row behind us, but it was still pretty unpleasant for anyone within 15 feet of us.

I must commend my husband's courage as he remained calm and still as Baby M hurled repeatedly onto his chest and shoulder. My husband does not like to be dirty and I was honestly surprised that he did not throw Baby M into my lap at the first sign of spittle. Once the gagging subsided, he took Baby M into the bathroom to get him washed up while I did my best to clean the seat with a receiving blanket and the paper towels and cup of water (with ice!?!) that the flight attendant brought me. Once the seat was as good as it was going to get, I joined the boys in the teeny-tiny airplane lavatory to assess the damage. Baby M, glad to be someplace other than row 15, was in surprisingly good spirits. We got him changed and washed up. My husband's shirt was a lost cause. We shoved it down the lavatory trash chute and I brought him another shirt from his bag. Luckily all of our luggage was carry on (we are efficient packers and too cheap to pay the checked baggage fee). I always carry a spare outfit for Baby M in my diaper bag, but we never would have thought to bring a spare outfit for Daddy. Even with this somewhat sour ending, our trip to Ann Arbor was great and we learned a few tips for our next airplane ride with Baby M (mainly Taco Bell and babies don't mix).